172 David's Road
by asheniel
Summary: Here's an uplifting lil' Todd fic in the very early spirit of Christmas. Read/review, please!


A/N-Hey there! Here's an uplifting little Todd fic in the very early spirit of Christmas. Well, not much else to say except, please enjoy and review!

"172 David's Road"

By NHSpartanGal14

The rusted green sign stood, half-crooked, firmly planted in a thick mound of smooth white snow and ice. The neighborhood that it so cheerfully announced to be David's Road was silent and bleak on that cold winter's night. Not a sound broke the still placidity of the biting blue-black air. It was all a soundless movie: pearly white snowflakes tumbled silently upon the ice-slicked streets, and the leering houses stood imperiously within the darkness and shadows, never uttering a sound.

Bright, colorful lights sparkled up the otherwise lusterless black buildings, merrily casting their luminous reds and yellows and greens across peeling paint and broken bricks. For a neighborhood so lacking beauty by day, it could really make one smile at night.

He cautiously stepped out from behind the dented door of the smudged yellow taxi cab, dimly aware of the frost-tinged air upon his chafed skin as it penetrated through thin, ragged clothing. He shivered and drew in a trembling breath, wrapping gaunt arms about his small frame.

"Do you think you could drive me all the way?" He asked nervously, his voice cracking with the unmistakable edge of an awkward young boy stumbling through puberty.

The bearded man inside shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, kid, this is as far as I'm going. I've really got to get home." The dark shadows cast across his wide face curtained the sympathetic expression that curved his rosy lips into a soft smile.

The young boy nodded slowly, trying to act nonchalant. "That's ok. Thanks anyway. Here's your money." He stuck a frail hand through the open door, a crinkled old ten dollar bill clutched between spindly fingers.

The florid man inside simply smiled a sad smile and gently pressed the money back into the young boy's tense hand. "Keep the ten, kid. It's Christmas, after all."

The small boy blinked in surprise, feeling the warm paper enclosed by his own hand. "Are you sure?" He asked unsteadily.

"Course I'm sure. Buy yourself something nice. You look like you could use it."

The thin boy backed up, smiling nervously. "Th-thanks, sir. I appreciate it."

"Anytime," the large man shrugged casually. "Merry Christmas, kid."

"Merry Christmas to you, too…." Soft-spoken words were drowned out by the loud roaring engine of the dirty yellow taxi as it took off into the night. "Merry Christmas to you too…." 

He turned pale green eyes to the desolate black neighborhood that stood behind him; a neighborhood so void of movement and sound and life. He exhaled slowly, watching the white cloud of mist that flowed casually from between his lips and into the bitter air.

172 David's Road. He still remembered the address easily after one whole year of unspoken syllables. 

It wasn't a long walk from here to there, about a block or two. He took a hesitant step forward, his faded gray sneakers completely enveloped in greedy white powder. A slow numbness crept through his icy toes and heels and ankles, and he took another step forward, more determinedly this time. Sodden feet sank hopelessly into merciless snow, and a shiver ran down his spine. He started to walk faster, more purposefully, toward his destination. Toward his home.

Home. The word still tasted foreign upon his inexperienced tongue. It did not roll with the ease of a familiar single syllable that fit well with his own character. More often, it jerked about erratically as though limping across a jagged backway.

Home. As strange as it felt, he welcomed its presence in his thoughts. It thawed his hardened skin and broke away the barriers that he'd built up through so many years of neglect. 

He knew it was real. This time, he wouldn't be so foolish as to throw it away with the Tuesday's trash. Not this time. He was smarter now, more experienced with the ways of the world. His words spoken were much less cynical and his tone of voice was much less bitter. Wandering about aimlessly for one whole year had made him realize just how precious home could truly be. It wasn't just a physical protection, as he'd once believed, after all. It was spiritual, emotional, an instinct of the heart, a candle burning in the inner core of the soul, spreading warmth upon all the darkened crevices of the body.

It was a beautiful thing, and he knew now that it was something he needed to survive.

His heart lightened considerably, and his feet pounded faster, kicking up the snow behind him as he started to run. Rhythmically descending sneakers never uttered a sound upon the soft, still powder, and though the icy air clawed at his face and throat, viciously slashing at his spirit, he ran faster and faster until his breath came in forced gasps and tears were forming in his eyes.Houses and their cheerful lights were a streamlined blur beside him, and he started to laugh: high pitched, ecstatic laughter of a young boy that couldn't wait to get home.

His heart throbbing and his lungs struggling for oxygen, he looked up to see 172 David's Road come into view. His heart leaped with joy upon seeing the plain old house for the first time in a whole year. He was almost home! Almost home!

Suddenly, his sneaker caught on something sharp and he found himself falling, face first, into an unwelcome, awakening shock of cold.

He'd fallen. Why had he fallen?

He pulled himself into a squatting position, hastily brushing the numbing snow off his face. He stared accusingly at his soggy feet. Big, clumsy feet. Always making him fall. He shook his head angrily, suddenly overwhelmed by the monstrous tidal wave of anger and worry and shock and apprehension all rolled into one bone-breaking mess.

He ran a skinny hand through long, shaggy blonde hair, pushing out the freezing droplets of water that freckled its strands. He was cold now; the bitter slap of snow upon his face had woken from the pleasant fantasies of love and warmth. He was in reality now.

He shivered unwillingly and rubbed his unfeeling hands together in an attempt to regain some feeling in them. Reluctant feet shuffled forward sluggishly, unwillingly. He was no longer so eager to go home for the reasons that he'd buried somewhere off near the border of Connecticut and New York last year. The reasons that he'd left.

It had been his first year with his new family. Hostile, suspicious, and sharp, the four boys had ever so slowly befriended one another throughout the many months of sharing that lonely old house in an unfriendly town. They'd shared their anger and their spite and their scorn and eventually, their trust.

They'd all had wild imaginings of what they would do for Christmas. Thoughts of trees and lights and food and decorations had been tossed around for weeks as the eager boys planned their holiday with a childish excitement that they all shared. It was their first real Christmas, after all. The first Christmas where genuine laughter reverberated throughout warm rooms and joyful smiles were exchanged between contented friends.

He'd been so excited for his first real Christmas. So excited that he'd completely overlooked his own entrapment inside himself. He was suffocating from the inside out, dying to escape the smothering hands of…of what? His friends? This newfound love that surrounded him, day in and day out, shielding him from the worldly demons and blistering winds that threatened to topple his dreams?

He'd loved his life, he'd loved the people in it. They, in turn, loved him back with the true loyalty of friends that had seen his scars and had helped to bandage them.

But…but something inside him, something untrusting and bitter, had rejected their love and kindness. Something frozen inside of him had told him that they cared too much, saw too little. The love that they clothed him in was merely a blanket that had been given to him on accident. They'd whisk it away as soon as they realized just who they'd been protecting underneath its depths, and he'd be left, cold and naked, with no one to save him.

The love that drew him closer to them was simply pushing him away, and he didn't know how to stop it.

Christmas dawn he'd woken up, earlier than anyone else, to the loathsome nightmares of his own self-torture, his own marred soul. At that point, he'd believed his despicable musings.

A hastily scribbled note was dropped inconspicuously upon the tinsel-laden kitchen table, simply stating in strictly impersonal words that he loved them, but he had to leave. He didn't know where, but he couldn't stay. He'd signed his name, and with backwards glance that hurt him more than he was willing to admit at the time, he'd walked out the door.

The young boy paused in his thoughts to realize that he'd come to a complete standstill on the sidewalk. He noticed, too, that his pant legs were saturated with water from the knee down, and feeling in his hands and cheeks had long since evaporated. He drew in a long, quivering breath, tasting the brusque air upon his tongue. His house was only fifty yards away. He could see the glistening icicle lights that they'd bought together only last year, not to mention the cheap plastic lawn ornaments depicting Santa and his reindeer.

The young boy smiled vaguely at the faintly glowing figures that splattered the motionless lawn. Funny how Santa was standing on his very property and still he'd never met him.

He took a slow step forward, half-longing to sprint, as fast as he could, down the sidewalk and up the steps of 172 David's Road. He wanted so badly to sit in that run-down but familiar old house again, a house always bursting with laughter and music and bickering.

Something in his sensible, less optimistic side held him back from running like a madman down the sidewalk. Something in his persona weighed his eager feet down so he could barely lift one in front of the other. 

He briefly wondered if his friends would be so cold as to slam the door in his face, never wishing to see his ungrateful green eyes ever again. He certainly wouldn't blame them if they did. One year void of personal contact yet brimming with unfinished explanations had most probably taken its toll. Hurt and anger and perhaps even hatred towards him was almost certain to be present in their brutally mangled hearts.

What if they didn't want him there? What if they wished he would just stay out of their lives after so abruptly ruining a day that was supposed to be filled with joy and love and warmth, not confusion and disbelief and pain? What if they stood there, bodies blocking the doorway, demanding to know why he had to go and defect when all he'd be able to give was pleading, unspoken explanations?

Dismayed, he realized that his eyes were wet with tears of apprehension, and he hastily brushed them away with the back of his hand. He wasn't going to let himself cry now. If they loved him enough they would understand, wouldn't they? It was simple enough.

Yet his mind refused to be reassured by his determined words, and his steps became even more reluctant than before. Scuffed, plodding tennis shoes moved at a sickeningly slow pace, and he contemplated turning around. Was all of this really worth it?

Every part of him screamed, yes it is worth it! Pain and sorrow is always worth it if it means you get to be with the people you love! 

He shook his head disgustedly, only partially believing his own passionate words. Could all of this trouble be worth it if it meant he would have his family back? Of course it would be. But….But what if he couldn't? What if they refused to accept his lame apologies and stumbling explanations? What if they looked upon him with cold stares and told him to leave? What then?

He found himself standing dumbly at the foot of the stairs of his house. His home. Where his family would either embrace him in their forgiving love or throw him into the sea of fire. 

He numbly lifted one foot up and pulled his suddenly heavy body up one broken step. He let out a rigorous breath, eyes set firmly upon the door in front of him. He could do this. 

He wrenched his body up three more steps until he was standing, face to face, with the wreathed door of his home. His breath caught in his throat as he imagined seeing their smile faces again. After a whole year. It had been a long year. He was tired and he wanted to be in his home. He dearly hoped that he would be welcome inside it.

Trembling fingers reached out slowly to rest upon the doorbell. He closed his eyes, feeling the cold plastic beneath his forefinger. What if they didn't even answer the door.

Petrified to the last ounce in his body, he drew in a steadying breath in a futile attempt to calm himself. Then, in a sudden burst of courage, he pushed the button weakly. The shrill beeping sound made him jump in his skin, and he realized then how loudly his heart was beating within his ribcage and how long he'd been holding his breath. It was no secret to him that he was terrified beyond comprehension as he waited for his sentence to fall. Was he going to heaven or to hell?

He slowly opened his eyes to the loud creaking and clattering of the door being brutally yanked open. A dark-haired boy stood in its place, an irritated scowl resting upon his face at being woken up in the middle of the night. The bedraggled frown slowly faded as, with dawning comprehension, he recognized the thin boy that stood so beseechingly in front of him. He stared, completely at a loss for words, an odd wave of emotion drowning his senses. He opened his mouth to speak, but was greeted by silence. It had been year….only a year….yet he felt like he was seeing his small friend for the first time.

The younger boy stared as well, taking in the dark-haired boy's shocked expression and quivering hands. He'd changed so much since he'd last seen him. The lighthearted gleam of last year's brown eyes was replaced by a strained look of too much pressure. Dark half-moons lined the older boy's eyes, and his skin seemed to be wrapped much too tightly across his cheekbones. He looked so old.

The younger boy wanted so badly to say something, but he, too, was unable to locate his words. A rush of sadness surged through his veins, threatening to knock him over in its hasty course throughout his body. He could feel salty tears forming in his eyes and he didn't mind so much anymore. To think that he once suspected that his friend didn't honestly care for him made him sick inside now.

"I'm…I'm home." He choked out, stumbling miserably on the two syllables that tasted so strange in his mouth.

The older boy nodded ever so slowly, a nod that gradually gained acceptance as the seconds passed. He opened his mouth, and in a trembling voice, he whispered, "I'm glad."

Tears of emotion rolled down the younger boy's numbed cheeks as he searched desperately for the right words. Everything in his mind was so jumbled together into a giant heap that all he could do was babble incessantly, his words filled with relief and pleading and fright all at once. "I'm…I'm sorry that….I'm sorry that I just – I just left and made you worry and I ju – just had to come back home because…because I messed up so badly and – "

"I know." The older boy answered quietly, and somehow his friend knew that he was speaking the truth. He really did know. 

The dark-haired boy stood back, allowing his young friend to step into the house. Warmth pervaded the small boy's senses as he surveyed the home that he'd loved so much but had been unable to stay in.

The lingering fragrance of pine and holly delicately perfumed the air, and sparkling bows and ribbons decorated the otherwise drab banister with their shining tinsel and velvet.

A slow smile curved his lips into a gentle arc, cracking his tear-stained cheeks and making his heart glow. He was home. He was finally home.

****

END OF STORY

A/N-Wasn't that sweet? I was feeling generous so I decided to make a happy ending! J/k, I was planning it from the start. So 


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